Someday My Prince Will Come
by a-and-afan413
Summary: Since Ally's mom died 2 years ago, her father has become abusive. When Ally starts tutoring popular boy, Austin Moon, will she develop feelings for him, and will he discover her deepest, darkest secret? -My first story, may be rated M later
1. Chapter 1

**Ally's POV**

Wake up, throw on the same pair of jeans I wear every day, pick out a t-shirt and a hoodie, cover up the bruises, pray to a God that I'm not sure exists that my dad is in a good mood, begin my forty minute walk to school, work hard in my classes, tutor kids in the library, walk home for forty minutes, pray that my dad is in a good mood, cry myself to sleep.

This is a typical day for me.

When I was younger, it wasn't like this. When I was younger, we were happy. That was when I had a mom and a dad.

She died two years, three months, and eight days ago. She was going on another month-long trip to Africa when her car from the airport was hi-jacked and she and a co-worker were killed.

* * *

_I can still remember the look on my father's face when he got the phone call. We were sitting at the kitchen table eating lunch- he had the day off and it was summer so I was out of school. He had a blank, expressionless look on his face and turned to me as he clicked the 'end' button on our home phone._

_ "What is it, dad?" I asked, panic rushing over me. I knew something was wrong. "Is Mom okay?"_

_ "No, Ally. She's dead." His voice lacked emotion. If he had said that she were hurt or in the hospital or something to that effect I would have cried. But I wasn't able to wrap my head around this answer. So I sat in silence with him for several minutes, sorting throught the thoughts in my head. After nearly an hour I finally looked up at him._

_ "Is she, really?" I asked him, my voice barely above a whisper._

_ Finally, he choked back a sob and said "Yes." Finally, tears rushed down my face and I began to sob uncontrollably._

* * *

It's been over two years and sometimes I still cry because I miss her. But mostly I cry because of my dad. After she died, my dad started distancing himself from me. I could tell that he was sad all the time. He cried every night and drank whiskey and beer to numb the pain of her passing. Sometimes he would even scream at me and call me names but he would always apologize in the morning.

Then, eight months ago he lost his job. That's when it all reall went south. He started to drink more and more, and instead of just the verbal abuse he began to get physical. I still remember the first time he hit me

* * *

_"Dad, I think it's time to put the bottle down and go to bed," I was nearly begging him at this point. He had drank nearly an entire bottle of Jack Daniels and had been screaming obscenities at me for the last ten minutes._

_ "Shut the fuck up, Ally. You aren't in any position to be telling me what to do," he replied._

_ "I'm not trying to tell you what to do Dad, but you're really scaring me," I said defensively, backing away as he advanced._

_ "Oh, so I'm scaring you, now? First, I'm a good-for-nothing, dead-beat father who can't keep a job, much less keep his wife alive, but now I'm scaring my kid, too? I'll give you something to be scared about, you little shit!" He slapped me across the face, hard, and threw his empty bottle at my bare feet. The glass shattered and a few shards hit my foot, causing small, thing lines of blood to appear. He stomped upstairs to his room and i slumped to the floor and sobbed for hours before I finally went to bed._

* * *

The next afternoon, when he had slept off his hangover, he held me and cried as he apologized profusely. He took me out for ice cream and swore that it would never happenn again. Of course, though, that was a lie.

* * *

**AN: My first story. This is kinda just an intro chapter. Let me know if I should give it a shot.**


	2. Chapter 2

-BEEP- -BEEP- -BEEP- -BEEP-

I angrily flung my hand at my nightstand, miraculously managing to come into contact with the snooze button on my alarm. I lazily lifted my eyelid in its direction. 5:30 AM. What teenager wakes up at 5:30 every morning? Then again, what teenager has to walk forty minutes to school. Or better yet, what teenager comes home every afternoon wondering if they'll be limping to bed, covered in bruises inflicted by their father.

After about five minutes of laying in bed, I finally swung my legs over the side and slowly stood up. I clicked on my lamp because I wasn't awake enough yet to deal with my ceiling light, and I walked over to my closet. I have nothing to wear. And I don't mean that in the traditional girly sense of 'Oh my gosh,I've already worn that shirt like six times, I can't wear it again!' I mean the only pair of jeans I own finally kicked the bucket on my walk home from school yesterday when one of the many rips got caught on a stick and the leg was split wide open. As I debated what to do about this dilemma, seriously considering wearing pajama pants because I couldn't wear shorts out of the fear of my bruised legs being seen by my classmates, something in my closet caught my eye that I had never really looked at before. It was an old maxi dress that my mom had bought for me years ago. I'm a few inches taller now than what I was when she died, but if it would cover my legs I could give it a shot.

I walked to my bathroom across the hall and pulled the dress on. The long, purple dress miraculously fit and reached my ankles, but it didn't cover my arms at all. I went back to my room to find a hoodie that would somehow look half-decent with a dress, and when I got to my closet I remembered my long forgotten denim jacket.

I tugged it on and enclosed my feet in a pair of flat sandals before making my way back to the bathroom. I looked at myself closely in the mirror. Were those dark circles or did I have a black eye? Sometimes I can't tell anymore. Either way, I covered the area with concealer, along with the red mark on my cheek. My dad was not in a good mood last night.

When I got home from tutoring he demanded to know where I had been, as he usually does when he gets drunk. He always forgets that I tutor classmates. Last night I had tried to stand silently and not argue with him, but that made him just as angry if I had replied, so really there was no way out of the abuse. He screamed at me for hours and slapped me hard across the face twice before I was finally able to go up to my room.

After I was dressed and ready for school, I made my way downstairs. Dad was sleeping in this morning and I had no intention of waking him. I prayed that that would be the right decision. I'm sure I'll find out tonight. I quickly grabbed a strawberry Pop Tart from the pantry, grabbed my backpack, and began my trek to school. Luckily, since it's September, the weather is starting to cool down. There are days where I end up covered in a sheen of sweat by the time I get to homeroom. The walk isn't really all that bad. It gives me an excuse to be out of the house longer and it gives me time to clear my head, but sometimes it isn't the most practical method of transportation. Sometimes when it's raining I'll call my friend Trish and ask for a ride or I'll try to catch a bus but I don't like to do it too often. It makes me feel like a burden.

On this morning's walk I think about the project we'll be starting today in music class. Miss Amy is going to be pairing us up with someone with a different music style and asking us to write a song together. This project should be a cinch for me because I love song writing, but I'm nervous because I don't typically share my songs with other people.

When I arrive at school, I stop at my locker, grabbing the books I'll need for my first two classes. My locker and books are very organized. Everything is organized by subject and all of my notes are color coordinated. I like to keep my things that way because it's one of the very few things in my life that I have control over.

As I walk to homeroom, I notice a few people staring at me. It's most likely because of my wardrobe switch. I only ever wear that one pair of holey jeans with a t-shirt and a hoodie, so this dress is getting me some attention. I'm not sure whether it's good or bad attention, but either way, I don't really like it. I like to fly under the radar so that no one asks me questions. When I get to my homeroom class, Algebra, I take my usual seat next to Trish, my only friend. Trish and I aren't as close as we were before my mom died, but we still talked and hung out occasionally. This is the only class we have together.

When the bell rings, signalling our dismissal from our first class, Trish compliments my dress and tells me that I look nice today. She asks me the occasion for my 'dressing up' and I truthfully reply that it was all I had to wear.

I go through the rest of my classes, as usual, before it's time for lunch. I meet up with Trish at my locker and we walk to the cafeteria together. On the way we're stopped by the popular group, led by Kira Starr.

"Woah, girl, what's with the wardrobe switch-up today? Finally decide to become a girl?" she asks me. Kira stands tall in her nude pumps and short, royal blue dress. Her face is covered in high-end makeup.

"Ignore her, Ally. She's just jealous that she has to pile on the products to look pretty and you can just throw on a dress." Trish says, taking my arm and continuing towards the cafeteria. Two of Kira's friends, who are practically just nameless henchmen, stand in our way.

"Woah woah there, did I dismiss you?" Kira asks, sneering at us. "What's your name?"

We stand there quietly for a moment before realizing that she isn't going to let us walk away until we tell her.

"Ally," I mumble quietly.

"Oh, well, congrats, little Ally. Because you and your chunky little friend here just made my shit list. Have a nice day." She waves us off and we scurry away from her. I try not to think about what she means by that as we purchase our lunches and sit down at a table, with a couple of Trish's friends that I don't know well, in our usual corner.

"Yeah, I'd like to see her try something with me," Trish grumbled, rolling her eyes. Her friends tried calming her down but she was obviously still upset.

I look over to the large table in the center of the caf, where the populars sit, and I can see Kira and her friends prodding at salads as the boys scarf down burgers and throw grapes and french fries at each other playfully. My eyes finally land on Austin Moon. He's Kira's boyfriend of about five months now. He's on our school's basketball team and a great guitar player, as I've learned from music class, which we have together. He has light blond hair and I kind smile. I can't help but wonder what he's doing with a snotty bitch like Kira. Oh well, it's not my place.

* * *

**AN: I know it's not very long and doesn't really get into everything but I wanted to go ahead and post this part so that I could clear my mind and start thinking about what'll happen next. Please review! Let me know if it's any good.**


End file.
